


out of the office

by glimmiks



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Fives is a Little Shit, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, murder threats but like endearing, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmiks/pseuds/glimmiks
Summary: If he didn’t know any better, Rex might think that you were trying to seduce him out of the office.It would be working.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Reader, CT-7567 | Rex/You
Comments: 16
Kudos: 134





	out of the office

Rex had barely gotten halfway through his first report when Fives first interrupted, rapping importantly against the door to his office and asking what his evening plans were.

Rex didn’t even bother getting up to let him in. “Work,” he had responded shortly. Fives took the hint and left.

The second time he was interrupted, Fives had Tup with him, who used his best puppy-dog-eyes-equivalent voice to tell his captain that Kix needed him to sign off on something in the medbay.

Rex told them to forward it to him. Nothing ended up coming from the medbay.

The third time, Fives stopped trying to bait him out of the office and arrived with  _ Cody _ in tow. Marshall Commander Cody, his commanding officer and one of four people in the galaxy with his security codes, who let himself in with the bouncing ARC on his heels because he knew it would drive Rex up the wall.

“Rexy,” Cody had cleared his throat and placed both palms on the desk. “I heard something from Fives just now.”

“Hmm.”

“He tells me that you’re overworking yourself.”

“I have reports to finish.”

“You’re on  _ leave _ .”

“And I have reports to finish.”

“So? I haven’t finished mine and I’m still going to get hammered.” Easy for him to say. Filing paperwork after a relief mission was a breeze compared to the mountains of banthashit Rex had to clean up because of his two Jedi and their knack for ensuring major planetary damages. He knew that Cody had probably been in his office all afternoon with his feet propped up on the desk, hiding from unwanted company while playing HUD tetris, all while Rex came down with carpal tunnel. And Maker, if that didn’t drive him a little insane.

He looks up to shoot his brother his sharpest glare. “Get out.”

“No.”

“Get out or I’ll call Kenobi.”

Cody’s eye twitches. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Without breaking eye contact, Rex switches on his comms, presses the General’s contact, and says into them, “General Kenobi? Can you come get Cody, he’s in my office and he says he hasn’t finished any of his reports-” He swings around in his chair just as Cody practically launches himself across the desk to slap the comms off, screeching  _ “okay, okay, fine, I’m leaving!” _

That buys him two hours of blissful silence.

It isn’t until the sun has completely set over Galactic City, when shards of moonlight begin to peek through the window of his office, that a fourth and final attempt is made.

“Rex?” A sweet, grinning voice calls from outside his door. “Can I come in?” It’s followed by a flurry of whispering.

_ Damn you, Fives. _ Rex has found ways to effectively say no to Cody over the years. He has yet to find a way to say no to you.

You were the assigned military communications officer to the 501st, which meant that you had the job of processing all of the legion’s paperwork. By paperwork, this meant all of Rex’s droning, passive aggressive reports detailing the efforts of one General Anakin Skywalker and Commander Ahsoka Tano as they raised havoc in star systems all across the galaxy. With this detail, it was inevitable that you and Rex were to meet eventually. He still remembers the first time he met you during your first week on assignment, when you rushed into Rex’s office, brandishing his latest report in one hand, blurting “Is this shit even  _ real _ ?”

He believed that the section in question had gone something along the lines of,  _ General Skywalker and Commander Tano compensated for the men’s lack of jetpacks using a combined effort of authorized yet inappropriate telekinetics. Strategy proved effective. _

And thus, a friendship was born. Rex traded his tedious reports for your endless snark and ridiculous taste in underground Heavy Isotope bands, and your tendency to interrupt his work schedule with the excuse to use his instant caf machine. Even so, Rex always thought that he got the better end of that deal.

He sighs and relents. “Yeah. Come in.”

There’s another flurry of whispers, and he strains his ears against the hum of the air conditioning unit to pick up on your conversation.

“Please just tell me, I won’t give it to Hardcase…”

“Go  _ away _ , Fives…”

You’re also one of the four people in the galaxy that Rex trusts with his office security codes, a piece of information which Fives is determined to get his hands on, no matter how he goes about it.

There’s a hurried typing of a four digit code, Fives’ disappointed swearing and disappearing footsteps, and then the door slides open and in you tumble. Wrapped in a worn brown jacket, tripping in heels too tall, wearing a dress that’s…oh.

The dress you’re wearing is black, clings to your thighs like a second skin, and is cut  _ seriously _ low. When you straighten and regain your balance in your heels, the plunging neckline doesn’t escape his notice either. Rex feels himself flush all the way down to his neck.

He’s  _ never _ seen you in a dress like this. You must’ve gotten off work early and had time to change, or else you’d be heading out with them in your work uniform like you usually did. Rex feels like the galaxy’s biggest creep, ogling at the accentuated curves of your waist and hips before catching himself and casting his eyes to the floor. 

He cards a flustered hand over his scalp. He’s been good about keeping things casual with you, playing off his budding crush whenever he thought that you were catching on. If he didn’t know any better, Rex might think that you were trying to  _ seduce _ him out of the office. And it would be working, he thinks silently.

Rex swallows and manages a smirk in your direction. “So they sent in the big guns, huh?”

You flash him a grin that can only mean misbehavior, hands shoved into your jacket pockets. It’s ridiculously worn in and well loved; Rex doesn’t think there’s been a single day when he hasn’t seen you without it. It just toes the line of ‘business formal,’ though he suspects that your superior lets you get away with it because of the little Republic insignias you and Jesse painted over the pockets in 501st blue. What’s a little team spirit?

“I am  _ ordering _ you to stop working,” you declare.

Rex leans back in his chair, shaking his head. “Last I checked, you’re not in my chain of command.”

“I am…” He watches your brow furrow as you struggle to think of an appropriate response. “I am in the chain of command…of your friendship.”

“Try again.”

You tip your head back and groan. “If you do not come out and get drunk with me tonight, I will throw myself into a speeder lane.” You were also quite the one for dramatics.

“Seriously?”

_ “You _ seriously!” You slam your hands against the desktop and get close in Rex’s face, indignant. “You guys are finally planetside and I’m not swamped with work for the first time in  _ ages _ , and you  _ refuse _ to go out?”

“I have work to do!” You’ve been here barely thirty seconds and his resolve is already wilting.

“Rex, as the person that’s going to be processing those, I wasn’t going to get to them til tomorrow night anyways.” He tuts disapprovingly, which you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “You can do them later! It’s not like Skywalker’s gonna demote you because you didn’t fill out some paperwork.”

This part is true. Anakin was worse with paperwork than anyone he’d ever met. “You never know,” Rex shrugs. Just to be difficult.

The look you cut him is just short of lethal. “Forget it. I’m throwing  _ you _ into a speeder lane.”

“With what upper body strength?”

You gape at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “You bitch.”

“You threaten me with murder, but  _ I’m _ the bitch?!”

“It was well-intended murder,” you say defensively, as if the morality of throwing someone into a speeder lane could be evaluated on a case-by-case basis.

When Rex scoffs in incredulity, you reach over the desk to grab his hand and proceed to try and  _ drag _ him out of his chair. “C’mon, pull that stick outta your ass just an  _ inch,” _ you whine, tugging on his hand. “Come hang out with us. Please?”

You jut out your bottom lip and give him your best hurt-tooka face, despite the knowing glint in your eye that told Rex you already knew what his next words would be. He says your name exasperatedly, mostly annoyed at how quickly he was caving to you. How could he say no to a face like that?

“Pleeeaaasee?”

Rex sighs. You and the rest of them are relentless. He pretends to consider it just a second longer, just to make you suffer. “Fine. I’m coming. But if I get demoted tomorrow, it’s your fault.”

You drop the hurt-tooka act immediately, throwing a fist into the air triumphantly and crowing, “Yes! Deal. Oh man, Fives owes me fifteen credits. He didn’t believe I could do it after the Cody thing didn’t work.”

Rex could believe it. He just mirrors your stretching grin as you take a little victory lap around his office, stuffing away the rest of his paperwork and shucking off the uncomfortable outermost layers of his armor. He thinks that if you asked him to, he’d probably follow you through the seven hells and back. 

Not that you ever had to know that.

… 

79s is buzzing with electricity when your company arrives. Your body hums along with it, excitement building as you survey the throngs of troopers already packed into the bar. It’s been a while since your last night out with the boys; in theory, a battalion’s communications officer goes on leave when their troops do, but you somehow managed to create more office work for yourself the past two times the 501st have come planetside and missed both opportunities entirely. 

But here you finally were, with some of your favorite people in the world, about to get absolutely plastered and enormously thankful to yourself from yesterday for not putting off editing those regulations articles.

This has got to be the most troopers in the bar that you’ve ever seen—sweaty and laughing and drunk out of their minds—it’s practically impossible to navigate the dance floor without knocking into a few pauldrons and consequently falling over in these stupid-fucking- _ heels. _ So you do your best to keep close to Jesse’s distinguishable blue markings, swimming your way past lime green, purple, rust colored armor, hoping that your single-file chain was still intact and that Fives was somewhere near the front with a better view.

Instinctively, you reach behind you to make sure that you haven’t lost Rex in the crowd—he catches your hand and squeezes it firmly.

Your group finally makes it to an empty booth and piles in, grateful to have escaped the sweaty masses. The eight of you have to tightly pack yourselves in so that no one is left without a seat; Tup is practically sitting in Kix’s lap and you have to swing your right leg to rest on top of Rex’s left so that he doesn’t have one buttcheek hanging off the side of the booth.

Fives wastes no time, shooting up from his seat at the edge with a cheerful “well, shots anyone?” then heading off to order a round before anyone could object. Not that you were planning on it—in this moment, shots sounded like the ARC’s greatest idea yet.

You’re only half listening to Hardcase’s story about an exploding LAAT while Echo interjects with fact checks, grinning lazily and letting your gaze slide from your friends towards the crowded dance floor. There’s a thrumming energy in the air, mixed in with dim violet lights that you already feel half drunk off of. Maybe it’s the prospect of a night out that’s been nipping at you for weeks, or the little black dress you’re  _ so _ glad your friends forced you to buy, or a combination of the two, or something else entirely.

When the droid waitress arrives with the shots, Fives stands up to take with a dramatic flourish and has to physically restrain Jesse from snatching up multiple at a time.

“Would the captain like to have the first honor?” Fives extends a glass to Rex, grinning knowingly. Hardcase and Jesse start chanting a low, “shots, shots, shots, shots,” and you can’t help but bite your lip in an effort to control your own wide smile as you and the others join in. Getting the captain out to 79s meant that the 501st had a singular goal: seeing Drunk Rex. Because Drunk Rex was  _ everyone’s _ favorite Rex.

He narrows his eyes at the tiny glass of blue liquid, like he knows exactly where it will take him, knows the exact kind of inappropriate behavior that his men want to see. When he takes it from Fives, your table explodes into whoops and cheers. You watch Rex as he catches the rim of the glass on his lower lip, tips the shot down his throat, and grimaces when the burn settles. 

Hands reach over the table and behind your shoulders to clap Rex on the back; you blink and flush when you realize that you were staring at the flexing tendon in his neck as he swallowed. For a split second, you’re hyper aware of your limbs draped together and the nonexistent space between your bodies; for a split second, the flicker in your chest that you always try to ignore burns a little brighter.

“Happy now?” Rex gripes at you, cutting through your thoughts. He’s fitting a fruit wedge between his teeth, and his eyes are smiling.

You wiggle your eyebrows and reach for your own shot glass. “Oh, you have  _ no _ idea.”

Everyone finishes their first round, your own shot burning a delicious warmth that trails down your throat and ignites a buzzing spark in your stomach. Someone offers to get a second round, and then a third. By then, the edges of your vision have gone a bit fuzzy and you’re giggling with every other sentence, reveling in the swirling heat that touches every corner of your body.

Drunk Rex has finally made an appearance as well. It shows itself just in the way he sits—sprawled back against the seat instead of hunched over his forearms, one arm thrown lazily over your shoulders and letting a dry fruit rind dangle from his teeth as he grins, listening to Echo and Fives attempt falsettos. It’s Rex without any of his inhibitions, willing and talkative and a  _ massive  _ attention whore. He traces little circles on your upper arm with his thumb, poking you every once in a while to get you to turn around and make sure that he still has your attention. You feign annoyance, but you’re quietly pleased by it.

At some point after round three, someone gets up: Fives, maybe, to flirt with a girl who’s been making eyes at him from over at the bar. After a few minutes, he comes back to get Echo, who disgruntledly lets Fives tug him away. Hardcase decides that he wants to get wasted on something stronger than the shots and wanders off to the bar. Kix, who is the galaxy’s worst lightweight, hears a song come on over the speakers, very loudly announces that this is “his jam,” and drags Jesse onto the dance floor with him. Tup follows, and very soon, you and Rex are the only ones left in the booth.

He nurses a glass of ne’tra gal while you animatedly complain about the idiots you work with, occasionally interjecting with drawled agreements that only spur you on further. Conversation almost flows better with Rex while he’s drunk, when he’s not so tightly wound and overworking himself. It fills you with a glowing pride, to know that  _ you’re _ the one who got him to unwind tonight, not Fives or even Marshall-fucking-Commander Cody. 

“If you hate these guys so much, maybe you should just quit,” Rex suggests, his words slurring together a little as he studies you from where his head is tilted back against the seat.

“Mm, s’not so bad,” you shrug and reach over to take the ne’tra gal from him. “Government benefits make up for it.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

You think for a moment, an incoherent list compiling itself in your head. “Nice apartment. Close to the federal district. Government...government transportation. Military discount. Dental. Did’ya know they cover my dental? Aaaand...” You frown. You had another one. “Paperwork.”

Rex raises his eyebrows. “Paperwork?”

“Mm-hmm.” You lean backwards to rest your head on the seat and pat his knee. “Who else would process all of the paperwork for my best boys if I quit?”

Rex chuckles, but his eyes never leave your face, startling liquid pools of hazel framed by long lashes that blink up at you. “You’re right. No one else would put together all those weapons request forms for Hardcase.” 

“Or read your shitty reports.” You poke his cheek affectionately.

“Or read my shitty reports.” He pokes you back.

Time seems to move differently when you’re buzzed. Everything is slower yet more fluid at the same time, like a playback of a holovid that leaves blazing lines of white in the corners of your vision. You watch, enraptured, as Rex leans forward to pick up the glass and tip its sugary-sweet contents down his throat, somehow making such a simple movement look so damn balletic. He grins when he catches you looking at him, eyes gone impossibly dark.

Your face is already hot from the earlier shots, but it goes even hotter now. Stars, you’re warm all over, jacket already forgotten and draped over the side of the booth, so flushed from what you can’t tell apart as the alcohol pulsing in your system or the heat from Rex’s body radiating to yours. Your bare legs are still in his lap, now stretched out across the empty booth with his hand resting over your knee. It’s then that you feel a rush of blood to your center, and you become very aware of your lack of undergarments beneath your skirt, just inches from where his hand grazes your leg so innocently.

It suddenly occurs to you how fucking  _ weird _ this is. A part of you keeps waiting for him to say something, a bad joke or anything snide that’ll feel normal for the two of you. But it hasn’t come yet, only languid smiles and searing gazes that leave you a little breathless, and maybe that’s what excites you.

The look Rex is giving you now fills you with that same anticipation. It’s devastatingly intense, his brow furrowed, like he’s debating with himself over whether or not to tell you something. When he leans into your ear, you instinctively drift towards him. His breath smells sharp and saccharine, fluttering against your ear. “I like this dress. You look good.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . The unexpectedness and sheer sincerity behind it makes your heartbeat stutter and your jaw goes slack.

You weren’t an idiot—you saw how he froze and stared when you came into his office to collect him earlier. It made you a little giddy with pride, getting the exact reaction you’d hoped for. But you didn’t expect him to...vocalize it. It’s throwing you in a loop. Rex never does this—tell you when you look nice, make any generally positive comments about your physical appearance. Will he tease you over a misbuttoned shirt or flyaway morning hair? Absolutely. But stroke your bare thigh and tell you that you look pretty after three shots? Unheard of.

_ Don’t be stupid. _ He only said that he liked your dress, not that he wanted to fuck you over this table. You squeeze your thighs together and try for an easy smile. “Thanks.”

He returns it, much more naturally than you did, and something in his heavy-lidded gaze disrupts your heartbeat again. The air between you two is charged with electricity that threatens to snap the delicate bindings of a friendship so deliberately formed. 

_ Fuck _ . What the hell is going on right now?

You take a deep, rattling breath, ignoring the quickening pulse in your chest and between your legs. You need a breather. Empty your system, clear your head. Come back, and everything will be normal again.

You’re sliding your legs onto the ground before your mind can spiral any further, pushing yourself to your feet without warning. You feel a hand shoot out to close around your wrist, and you look over to see Rex watching you curiously. 

“You okay?” he asks, brown eyes boring into yours. You nod, a little jerkily.

This is all such  _ banthashit _ , you realize. This desire that you’ve silently harbored for him all this time, a desire that sometimes you think he might share, how you’ve written off any possibility of a relationship during a war, how you get one, tiny inkling of hope that shrieks  _ why not _ , and your alcohol-addled mind chooses  _ this _ moment to act on it. He’s  _ drunk,  _ and none of this is real. And you’re just sober enough to recognize when a moment isn’t a moment, just a figment of your repressed longing, a result of fleeting touches and misinterpreted messages.  _ Shit shit shit. _

“Have to pee,” you mumble, almost tripping over in your heels as you turn and practically run towards the back of the bar.

The ladies’ fresher is empty, thank the Maker. You won’t be tempted to slide your butt onto the grimy tile with some sympathetic drunk woman and cry your life story to her. Instead, you turn on one of the faucets and let the water run over your knuckles, staring into the dark basin as silvery droplets swirl along the bottom and you try to slow your breathing.

Now that you’re alone, your hurricane of thoughts begin to calm themselves. The silence and—well, lack of Rex—helps you deliver a reality check. It’s the alcohol, you tell yourself patiently. It makes him a bigger flirt and it’s making you overly anxious. You’re just friends, that’s all he wants and it’s all you can afford to be.

You swear under your breath and turn off the faucet. Well. In hindsight, getting Rex to go drinking with you tonight was a  _ terrible _ idea. You should’ve stuck with Hardcase and gotten as plastered as you had planned to, instead of let Rex invade your space and fill your vulnerable, tipsy head with horny delusions. 

The fresher door hisses open, letting some of the thumping club music from outside filter into the previously muted space, but you don’t pay any mind to it. Feeling a little more convinced of yourself, you dry your hands and turn to go find the companion you arrived with, only to see him standing directly in your path to the door.

“R-Rex,” you stutter. “What…” He stays leaned against the doorframe, looking completely casual despite how obviously flustered you are. “What’re you doing in here?”

“I got bored,” he says simply. Fuck, he looks so gorgeous standing there. Tall and lean and muscular and in  _ uniform _ , just gazing at you steadily. You’re already subconsciously throwing out the pep talk you gave yourself earlier, letting yourself drown in his magnetic energy.

“Idiot,” you whisper. “You complete and utter attention whore. You can’t even handle being alone for five minutes so you go in the  _ women’s _ refresher—”

“I didn’t think you’d come back out.”

You stare. “Why?”

Rex shrugs, pushing his shoulder from the doorframe to take a step towards you. “You looked...a little freaked. I thought I did something wrong.”

You shake your head no, a little guiltily. He thinks he scared you off, or grossed you out, or something equally as impossible. He has  _ no _ idea what was going through your head, what’s going through your head right now…

“Are you sure?”

You nod. “I just needed some air. S’too cramped out there.” You gesture weakly towards the door behind him.

The corners of Rex’s mouth quirk up. He takes another step towards you, boots clicking softly on grainy linoleum as he tests the space between you two. “If you felt cramped, you didn’t have to sit on my lap the entire time.” His tone is teasing enough, but when you meet his eyes, they’re serious and darkened by something that makes the roof of your mouth go dry.

“I-I wasn’t  _ sitting _ on you,” you protest faintly. “You’re the one who gets- gets all weird and touchy after three drinks. Barely three. Fucking…lightweight.”

Weak roast. You took too long with it. Normally, Rex would rip into you after something like that, but now it doesn’t seem to occur to him to make the effort. He just moves in a little closer until he’s standing directly in front of you, pushing you into the edge of the sink counter, til he’s just barely inches from your face. Your heart is practically pounding out of your chest; you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it from how close he was.

“M’not a lightweight,” he mutters, his breath skimming the top of your nose. “Three’s…nothing.”

“You’re in the  _ women’s _ fresher,” you remind him. “You think sober Rex would pull this shit?”

“I just wanted…” Rex blinks, struggling for the right words through his haze. “...wanted to make sure you were okay. Don’t want you to think I’m weird for...for wanting to touch you. Want to touch you all the time.” He blinks at you through thick lashes. “ _ Is _ that weird?”

You short circuit. Brain goes completely empty for one, two, three seconds, before the meaning of his words actually start to sink in.

He...he wants to touch you. All the time. Fuck, it doesn’t even sound real coming from him. Just the implications behind it makes warmth and wetness shamelessly pool between your legs, and you think you might stop breathing just from the tension that’s skyrocketing between you two.

You were right: sober Rex would never pull this shit. He’d never pluck up the guts.

“No,” you breathe, surprised you could even manage the single syllable. “You can…” You swallow. Fuck, your tongue feels like sandpaper. “You can touch me.”

Rex’s hands immediately slide themselves around your waist, sturdy and grounding yet light as a dream, all the same. He’s so close that if you tilted your chin up and lifted yourself on tiptoes, you could kiss him. But you don’t. Just stand there as your pussy clenches around nothing but anticipation as your best friend barely touches you over your clothes. It’s maddening, how fiery the arousal in the pit of your stomach swirls. It’s never been this debilitating with anyone else, the pressure never brought you so close to the brink of imbalance. 

But then again, it’s never been  _ Rex _ . For a few, crushing moments of silence, there is no noise in the empty fresher except for the sounds of both of your uneven, haggard breathing.

His hand ghosts over the swell of your ass, and sends you practically keening into his touch. “Blast it,” he mutters.

“Rex-”

And then he’s lurching forward, closing the gap between your lips with crushing force. Maker, you fucking  _ melt _ into him—winding your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him flush against your body by the back of his neck, his hands finding the backs of your thighs and lifting you on top of the counter with fluid ease. He kisses you with a ferocity that leaves you breathless, his tongue tasting like syrup and sharp tequila and desperation, licking deep into your mouth and making you dizzy. 

The playful banter, ephemeral touches, the dancing-around-the-subject you two have been doing for the past couple years, it’s all finally reached a breaking point. It’s every bit as spectacular as you thought it would be, and more.

Rex pulls you towards him across the counter, the skirt of your dress riding up to your hips and exposing your aching core. His hands leave trails of fire in their wake, groping heedlessly at the bare expanse of skin over your legs. He eventually pulls his mouth away from yours and you almost whine from the loss of it, only for the divine wetness of his tongue to be replaced at your neck, suckling at a spot under your jaw that makes your breath stutter and chest arch closer into him. Fuck, how did he find that so fast? He’s only just begun to touch you and already seems to know exactly what’ll set you on fire.

You only begin to come toyour senses when you open your eyes, Rex’s mouth still attached to your neck, and look around at the very  _ public _ fresher you were currently grinding up against your best friend in.

“Rex,” you gasp. “Someone could- someone could come in—”

Wordlessly, he hooks your calves around his midsection and effortlessly picks you up off the counter by the flesh of your thighs, backs up into a stall, and sets you down on shaky heels. Rex locks the door with a deft flick of his wrist, and presses another searing kiss to your lips before growling, “Then you’d better stay quiet if they do.”

Maker, if you weren’t already soaking before this, you are now. You honestly aren’t sure if you could even do what he’s asking. Every nerve in your body is alight and burning with the urge to moan aloud at even the slightest brush of his fingers.

In an instant, he’s on his knees in front of you, tugging up at the fabric of your dress already rolled up to your hips, cursing openly when he sees your lack of underwear. 

“Fuck- you haven’t been—” He drags his tongue over his lips, pupils completely dilated as he looks up at you. “You’ve been like this the whole time?”

You nod slowly, carding your fingers over his scalp, just admiring. Rex, on his knees in front of you, plucked straight out of one of your fantasies. You spread your legs a little further apart, unwittingly, brimming with want for him there. “Y’could...see it through the dress,” you breathe. “Looked nicer without.”

He tears his gaze away from yours to look at the soft dip of flesh before him. Fuck, you swear you can feel yourself dripping under his stare. “I’ll say,” he mumbles quietly. 

You almost would’ve laughed, if you weren’t already so turned on. But then he’s leaning forward, fluttering his eyes shut, and the oxygen dies in your throat as he takes one, slow, torturous lick up the length of your slit.

Immediately, your spine arches itself off the cold durasteel wall and your hips press back. Rex holds you steady, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and using his other arm to encircle your waist. He takes his sweet time with it, dragging his tongue up and down the swollen softness of your pussy in lazy strokes, eeking inches of pleasure from your body with no real rush.

He’s tasting, you think dazedly as his tongue dips inside of your opening. The fucker isn’t even  _ trying _ to get you off yet. Just seeing how long it’ll take you for your resolve to collapse, how long until you start begging him for it.

Sure enough, Rex pulls his mouth off of you just long enough to murmur, “Taste so sweet.” He presses a kiss against the softness of your inner thigh. “Just like I knew you would.”

Your thighs clench with unattended desire. It’s not enough, not enough pressure in the places you want it, where you  _ need _ it. You open your mouth to say something snappy, but no insults come to mind. Just the trembling, writhing monster of your arousal, how you’d do anything for Rex just to give you release.

“Please,” you cry, hips rutting against his firm hold. “Please, I need-”

“Need what?” Rex’s tongue glides, slowly, circling your clit. Your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Need- need your tongue—” You pant desperately, grinding your cunt into the heat of his mouth. Fuck, it’s so hard to form the words to tell him what you want. Especially when he’s toying with you on purpose, just to see you lose control, winding you up until your willpower shatters like glass.

He presses another kiss to your thigh, tender and featherlight, watching you with gleaming eyes from between your legs. You don’t even notice that Rex’s hand has left your thigh slung over his shoulder until it’s beneath you, pushing two fingers into your entrance up to the knuckle and curling them.

You sigh, a shameless, breathless noise of euphoria, your walls clamping around on his finger like a vice. 

“S-Shit,” he hisses. “Shit, you got so fucking  _ tight _ .”

When his tongue touches your clit again, this time he zeroes in on it.

He’s fucking incredible at this, is your first and lasting thought. Rex eats you out like he’s been wanting to do it for years, while his fingers pump into you at a steady pace. The sound of it is obscene, his fingers pulling out of your sopping cunt with wet, sucking noises that seem to echo around the empty fresher and make the pleasure in your stomach coil even tighter.

Rex works you up with deadly precision and no remorse. The soft, velvet pliability of his tongue that circles hard and fast around your clit, the exquisite drag of his finger pads against your fluttering walls, it’s all almost too much to feel at once. You can only writhe under his grip, little pathetic sounds of desperation tearing themselves from your throat as you lose yourself in how he touches you. 

If only one of you had just said something earlier. Your eyes roll back when he runs his flattened tongue along the ridges of your opening. You could’ve had this  _ forever _ ago.

“You’re so quiet,” Rex murmurs against your thigh when he comes up for air. “Do you like it when I touch you like this? Nothing to complain about now, huh?” You try to give him the dirtiest look you can through heavy lids, but—fuck, he’s just  _ watching _ you. Legs spread for him, soaked pussy on full display, letting him debauch you against this grimy fresher wall with all of your friends just outside. He’s smiling, the cheeky bastard, the most fucked-out expression on his face, your slick covering his lips and chin as he watches your face contort in bliss, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

You’d never get used to this Rex: bold, dominating, mind blowingly  _ sexy _ . You don’t think you ever want to.

“Shut- shut the f-fuck up,” you breathe. Another word out of him and you might reopen debate over the speeder lane idea. The thought is pushed aside when you feel your lower abdominal muscles start to contract around his knuckles. “ _ Shit- _ I’m gonna cum—”

Rex’s head immediately dips back between your legs to lick against your clit and massage you to orgasm. He wrings the pleasure from your body little by little, til it gives way to an impending force that curls in your stomach and rises with the pressure on your clit— _ up, up, up,  _ until—

“Fuck, I-” you gasp, and then your spine goes rigid, and you cum  _ hard _ . Crashing, eviscerating waves of bliss that make your vision go white as you quietly whimper, rocking your pulsing, drenched cunt over Rex’s fingers and mouth. He rides you through it, sucking gently on the swollen bit of flesh, holding you pinned against the wall as you spasm above him. Fuck, it’s  _ good _ . Deliriously, impossibly good.

When you start to come down from your peak, you blindly reach for Rex; he’s there, standing over you, palming your tits over your dress with one hand, kissing you open-mouthed and sloppy and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It’s enough to get you drunk all over again.

“Maker, Rex,” you whimper against his mouth. “I need- I  _ need _ you to fuck me. Right now.”

He groans at the broken desire crackling behind your words.  _ “Fuck,” _ he whispers raggedly, his fingers fumbling blindly at the straps of his codpiece as he works to free his cock from his blacks. “Fuck, sweetheart, I will.” The tightness of his voice and the slurred nickname make your jaw go slack. You can feel him slap against your inner thigh, unbelievably hard and pulsing, aching for release. You want, more than anything, to give it to him.

_ “Please-” _ The word rips itself from your throat, frantic for him. Rex lines himself up, one push away from breaking you open, and then—

—the fresher door slides open with a warning hiss, and you hear a group of girls stumble in, giggling loudly. You yelp in surprise just as Rex’s hand comes flying up to stifle the noise, and you both freeze in place. 

“-and then he told me I was  _ boring _ , can you believe that shit? Like,  _ you’re _ the boring one, you’ve all got the same face!”

Fucking— _ dammit _ . Just your luck. You could almost cry in frustration. There had probably been less than ten girls in the club when you left, and just before the moment you were about to get positively railed by your best friend against the wall of this fresher, three of them decide to take a piss break.

“That drunk asshole, honestly-”

“Can we just  _ go _ , I wanna get nerf burgers-”

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a sec, I gotta pee so bad.”

Maybe they won’t notice, you think hopefully. They’ll just leave and then we can get back to more important things. Rex seems to have the same train of thought, his breath ghosting against your ear as he mouths at the skin along your jaw. The head of his cock is still pressed at your entrance, the promise of it making your head swim, if they would only just hurry up and  _ get out— _

But then a pair of purple legs in silver heels stop directly in front of your stall, and your worst-case scenario manifests itself.

“Yo- are there  _ two _ people in there?”

Your squeak of embarrassment is muffled by Rex’s palm, and he swears low under his breath in irritation. 

“Apartment near the fed, did you say?” 

**Author's Note:**

> edit 12/23: decided not to write a part two since nothing felt satisfying and i kinda like this ending the way it is lol. 
> 
> read it on my [tumblr](https://glimmiks.tumblr.com/post/625663538475778048/out-of-the-office-captain-rex-x-femreader)


End file.
